He just managed to get
in under the sluice gate without actually submerging his head, and to
regain the brick tunnel.
He paused for a moment, hoping to be able to lower the gate, but the
apparatus was out of his reach, and he had nothing to stand upon to aid
him in manipulating it.
Three or four inches of water now flooded the cave of the golden dragon.
Max pulled the keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door at the foot
of the steps. He turned, resting the electric lamp upon one of the
little ebony tables, and lifting Helen Cumberly, carried her half-way up
the steps, depositing her there with her back to the wall. He staggered
down again; his remarkable physical resources were at an end; it must
be another's work to rescue Mrs. Leroux. He stooped over Gianapolis, and
turned his head. The crooked eyes glared up at him deathly.
"May the good God forgive you," he whispered. "You tried to make your
peace with Him."
The sound of muffled blows began to be audible from the head of the
steps. Max staggered out of the cave of the golden dragon. A slight
freshness and dampness was visible in its atmosphere, and the gentle
gurgling of water broke its heavy stillness. There was a new quality
come into it, and, strangely, an old quality gone out from it.
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